The Start of a story...

When I was alive, I was a very enthusiastic sort of guy, both in mood and in mind. Especially in my mind, though. For, even when people are mellow or down in the dumps and their outward actions are somewhat droopy, their minds are usually working. These droopy times in body and physical expression are likely the periods in which our minds are most active. Imagine you’ve been insulted by someone you wanted to be your friend. If you’re me, outwardly you’re sort of a mess: you become pensive and keep your feelings mostly inside, but everyone can tell you’re troubled. You get depressed and it shows (unless you’re one of those people who put a smiley face mask in front of them whenever they go into public; I’ve never understood you.) However, though more or less bored-looking on the surface, inside you’re going through all the ways in your head how that other person could fall into some kind of misfortune that’s related to you and see the error of their ways. Your mind is going crazy about it. Is it like this for you? No? Well, I tried to relate. Anyway, this story isn’t about relating to you. In fact, it’s about a very unrelated experience. But before I tell about that, I must continue to explain the reason for which this story started in the first place.
Like I said, very enthusiastic; lively mind, all of that. At nights it was the worst. If society would let me, I would have become completely nocturnal. The darkness provoked my imagination and that’s the time I was most productive. If something was on my mind, I wouldn’t be able to fall to sleep. In fact, it was a chore for me to try and make myself become drowsy. This probably had to do with frequently sleeping in till 3pm. However, even when I was good and got up at 8am, and didn’t take a nap during the day, I’d usually have the darnedest time getting to sleep. Whenever a new thought found itself to my head, I would have to actively dismiss and forget it, or else I’d stay awake. Now, it’s a shame having to dismiss and forget good ideas. It’s a blessing to be able to do the same to bad ideas, such as, thinking of all the ways an acquaintance might accidentally injure you and then feel awful about it and apologize to you in tears. But they both kept me up; good or bad idea, they were both nearly impossible to dismiss when all I wanted to do was get out of bed and write a story, or read a book, or watch a film. Simply put, when my mind was unsatisfied with something when I went to bed, I would get up again. The dissatisfaction in this story has to do with not knowing how I died (or was killed), and “bed” means “grave.”
What I remember is it was really late, around 4am, and I was walking around my house. My parents were asleep, and the house was silent and still. I knew outside it was windy and cold, but I couldn’t hear the wind, and inside the house it was comfortable and warm. Before I finally decided to go to bed, I took a notebook and pencil to the bathroom and wrote out a short something as I cleaned out my intestines. Then I got a drink of water from the kitchen, notebook in hand, loose socks on feet, and walked down the hall, silently as not to wake my parents. I was in a strange mood, as always I was that late, and held a piece of writing equally as strange in my hand. I had that feeling that I could almost hallucinate, my mind was that detached. Opening my bedroom door, I imagined some hideous troll standing before me (I said I was feeling strange). See, this was a way of scaring myself. I don’t know why, but people seem to like to excite their fears. In Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas, some of the first words in the opening song say, “Life’s no good without a good scare.” We seem to like to be scared, and that’s what I was doing. I figure I mine as well have been. Nothing was really in my house at that time of night—yeah, so I thought. Hopping onto my bed, I began fluffing up my sheet and pillow. Then I fell forward with a sudden jolt, my sheets were dyed red, and I felt an immense pain in the back of my head. It only lasted for a second though, and then I was dead.